


desynchronization

by wartransmission



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, Second person POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 07:14:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3887113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wartransmission/pseuds/wartransmission
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Again, the thought crosses your mind:</p><p>You’re in love with Oikawa. You are in love with your best friend, your childhood friend, and it doesn’t really feel any different from anything you’ve felt for him before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	desynchronization

**Author's Note:**

> god bless [tatezame](http://tatezame.tumblr.com/) for helping me out with the fic title <3
> 
> here's a [tumblr link](http://jadedgalvanizer.tumblr.com/post/118271859888/fic-desynchronization) for anyone who prefers reading it over there!

You don’t quite fall in love with him as you do grow into it, and the realization of that- of just how much he makes you _feel_ \- doesn’t come as a surprise, not anymore. If you were any younger, angrier and more impatient, you would have likely fought against it; it was _never_ a good idea to be in love with your best friend of god knows how many years, _especially_ when it’s Oikawa.

You take in a breath, then let it out.

Again, the thought crosses your mind:

You’re in love with Oikawa. You are in love with your best friend, your childhood friend, and it doesn’t really feel any different from anything you’ve felt for him before.

You figure that it’s probably because you’ve already loved him since long ago, which explains a lot. It explains your unnatural patience with him, explains why you want to be by his side even though he’s always such a troublesome and irksome guy, explains why you want- so _badly_ \- for him to be happy _._

It’s funny, really. It’s funny how you realize all of this the moment Oikawa bumps his forehead into your back, the warmth of his skin seeping into your shirt, before slumping into you like a rag doll that’s lost the strings that had been holding it upright.

It’s funny how you realize all of this just when he’s been dumped, the reason for said dumping being the same as with the first girlfriend he’d had in middle school.

If this is fate’s way of saying that you should make your move while you can, then…

then you’re not going to do anything, because he needs you as his friend more than anything else right now.

“Is it bad, Iwa-chan?” he murmurs into your back, breath puffing more warmth into your skin as you keep yourself still for him. “Am I a bad boyfriend just because I couldn’t spend more time away from volleyball?”

 _No, you’re not,_ you think to yourself, though you don’t say that out loud. Instead, you answer with, “you have a shitty personality,” noting how Oikawa sucks a breath at your words. It is deliberate when you take pause, letting him hold in his breath for the entire duration of your silence, until you say, “But being dedicated to volleyball doesn’t make you a bad boyfriend.”

“You’re so mean,” he whines and you roll your eyes, because how many times has he said that to you already? “You’re supposed to be nicer to me when I’m heartbroken, Iwa-chan.”

“You’re not even heartbroken,” you tell him, turning to face him just as he raises his head from your back. His expression is carefully blank, as it often is when he’s trying to gauge just how much of the truth he can admit to you, before being rearranged into a smile that screams _fake! fake!_ into your head.

“How would you know that?” he asks, eyebrow raised as he lifts his legs to settle them in front of himself, folding his arms over his knees and resting his cheek against his wrist. “You’ve never even been in love, Iwa-chan.”

You don’t laugh, though it’s a close call when a wry smile tugs at the corner of your lips. _What a joke._

“Maybe not,” you say with a tiny shrug, right before folding your arms over your chest, “but I know you.”

“And?” he asks, lips pursed as he looks up at you with half-lidded eyes. He’s tired; you can tell as much from how he’s leaning sideways into the back of your couch, body slumped and eyes blinking lazily open. You have a good guess that it’s because of the stress brought on by his recent break-up with- Riya? Aya? You don’t really remember- plus the stress caused by their upcoming exams. “How can you tell?”

“I know what you’re like when you feel like shit,” you say, turning away from him to grab your cup of water from the coffee table in front of the couch. You take a long sip, enough to refresh your dry throat, before you set the cup back down to look at him again. He’s watching you when you turn to him, hawk-like and attentive, and you frown a little more. It’s different from the stare he gives you when he’s trying to understand how you’ve figured him out; it feels a lot more like he’s waiting for you to explain what he already knows about himself. You say, because you don’t know what else you can do in response to that look, “This isn’t like that.”

“And what am I like when I, as you so poetically put it, feel like shit?” he asks, smile not quite reaching his eyes when he looks at you.

You grunt your annoyance at his persistence. “I’m not going to explain what you already know, Shittykawa,” you grumble, before standing up- or, at least, you _try_ to, but you stumble midway when he none too kindly clasps his arms around your waist and _tugs_. Surprised, you bark out, “ _What the_ -”

“ _Iwa-chan_ ,” he whines, _louder_ now, hiding his face in the space of his arms around your waist when he finally pulls you back onto the couch. “You should be _nicer_ to me! What kind of best friend are you?!”

“The kind that’s not willing to put up with your bullshit,” you deadpan, remaining unfazed when he gasps in offense at you. “I was gonna get you some milk bread, but if you don’t want it-”

“I want it!” he says instantly, pulling back and unclasping his arms from your waist with a too-bright expression that leaves you struggling to hide a smile.

The easy smile on his face just confirms what you’d first thought: if he were truly heartbroken over the girl he’d been dating, then it’d take more than just milk bread to get him back to normal.

“You’re like a kid,” you tell him, raising an eyebrow when he purses his lips at you in response. “That’s not helping your case, Asskawa.”

“I’m just cute,” he says, waving the insult off with a wide smile. “And you’re not, unfortunately enough.” You shoot him a glare just as you stand to head for the kitchen and flip him off with a firm hand, which only seems to amuse him more because he laughs _hard_ , the sound of it following you even after you’ve passed through the doorway and made your way to the pantry.

And, because Oikawa is a stupid and masochistic shit, he goes on to jibe from the living room, “That’s okay, Iwa-chan! I’m sure there are girls out there who like grumpy and plain guys like you!”

You stifle a snarl of annoyance by covering your face with one hand, palm warm on your skin as you give a long inhale and exhale.

Why couldn’t you have loved someone _nicer_ to you?

 

* * *

 

It’s mean. You know that it’s mean, you _know_ that it’s bad, but you can’t help from thinking that you’re glad Aya-chan broke up with you, because it just means that Iwa-chan will be extra nice to you again.

He’s petting your hair now, rough and calloused fingers running through your locks and dull nails gently scratching your scalp, and you wonder if he notices just what it is he’s doing. You wonder if he realizes just how _nice_ he becomes with every break-up you have, how he’s less inclined to complaining when you rest your head on his lap and snap meaningless jibes at him.

You wonder if he loves you too.

Your heart jumps at the thought and Iwa-chan pauses in his ministrations, gaze blank when you turn to look at him. _Did he notice?_ you think to yourself, panic clutching at your heart and making your chest feel tight. _Did he finally realize?_

“You’re being really quiet,” he says and you let out a soft sigh, before shifting until you’re turned around completely and facing him from your place on his lap.

“It’s not that strange,” you tell him, trying not to react when he brushes away one of your stray hairs away from your face. Your heart jumps, as it always does whenever he gets too close, but you figure that you’re safe and that you haven’t reacted outwardly when he doesn’t say anything about it. “I can be quiet too, Iwa-chan.”

“It’s a different kind of quiet, obviously,” he says, like you’re an idiot and not the genius setter who’s tossed to him so many times before. You frown in annoyance and he smirks, one corner of his lips curling upwards, and you try not to let on just how much you love it when he’s amused or happy with you. “Do you…miss her?”

“Her?” you parrot, blinking in bemusement, until he frowns at you like you’ve just blatantly lied to his face.

_Ah._

You hide a wince behind a smile, and you think you hate yourself a little for being so proud that you can pull it off as if the smile were something natural. “No, not really. Aya-chan is really cute, and very sweet, but...” you wave a hand in dismissal, donning a mockingly solemn expression even as his frown deepens in turn, “it was never really meant to last.”

It is hesitation that makes his shoulders tense up, and you try not to smile. You think that it’s cute, how he’s worried about you even though you’ve gone through this time and time again, and you appreciate it far more than you’ll ever let on.

You don’t want him to know that you’re being like this on purpose, after all.

“You say that all the time,” he murmurs, voice unusually soft as he cards his fingers through your hair. You hum your pleasure in response to the touch and he smiles, just for a flicker of a second, before reverting to his usual grumpy expression.

 _It’s really cute_ , you think, smiling as you nuzzle your face into his stomach, ignoring how he grumbles half-hearted complaints at your childish behavior. _Really, really cute, how he cares so much about you._

“Because it’s true,” you say, voice half-muffled by his shirt until you pull back to look at him. “I mean, they probably only liked me for my face, anyway- which is _completely_ understandable, of course.” He ruffles your hair with a roughness that sends a tingle up your spine and you laugh, not quite putting your all into it when you try to push his hand away. “Iwa-chan, so violent!”

“You’re so smug when it comes to the stupid things, Oikawa,” he says, amusement gleaming bright in his eyes as he lets up on the rough-handed ruffling to gently mess up your hair.

“Rude,” you huff, smiling anyway when nudges you in the temple with his knuckles. “It’s not stupid to know that I’m attractive.”

“That’s not all there is to you,” he says, an eyebrow raised-

until it drops, and he stares with wide eyes at you.

You touch your face on instinct, and end up stifling the urge to curse when you feel how warm your cheeks are. “Aw, look, Iwa-chan!” you say, forcing yourself to smile despite the urge to just hide because Iwa-chan- _Iwa-chan, of all people!_ \- made you _blush._ “You made me blush! I didn’t know you had it in you to be smooth.”

“I’m…not,” he says, looking embarrassed himself as he stares down at you. The urge to hide your face in his shirt only gets stronger with the intensity of his gaze, and you bite the inside of your cheek to retain some semblance of control. “I just. Meant.” He frowns, nose wrinkling in that funny way it does whenever he’s frustrated with something ( _you_ , most of the time). “ _Ugh_ ,” he groans, covering his face with his hand, the pad of his index finger on the tip of his eyebrow with the pad of his thumb on the other. “You _know_ what I meant. You’re great at volleyball too, so that’s something.”

You pout. “Is that all?”

He squints askance at you, embarrassment making way for annoyance when he flicks you in the forehead. You yelp a complaint but he ignores it in favor of looking up at the wall and away from you. Seconds tick by and your patience wears thin; you almost make to tease him again, until he says,

“No.”

You blink in surprise, not expecting that answer. “No?”

“No, that’s not all,” he says in a grumble, as if he has to force the words out of his mouth just so he can say them. “You’re smart, and you notice things.”

 _Vague_ , you want to say in a teasing tone, and you open your mouth to verbalize it, until he cuts you off with, “If you really liked a girl, you’d probably notice a lot of things about her. You’d know what would make her happy. That’s what’s good about you.” Then he looks at you, his gaze feeling oddly warm on your skin, and you stare back because looking away would be admitting _defeat_.

It would be admitting that you’re embarrassed, that you can’t handle him when he’s like this, and that’s the last thing you want.

(Because admitting to your embarrassment would make him embarrassed too, and he’d never say these kinds of things again. You don’t want that.

You don’t want this to stop.)                                    

“But,” he sighs and it’s like the spell on you is broken, your stare flitting away from him for a moment before returning with a new gleam of curiosity, “you don’t really do that, do you? If you did, you wouldn’t be dumped so often.”

“I guess I just haven’t found that special person yet,” you lie, deliberately keeping from saying a specific gender when you smile one of your soft smiles at him. “Maybe I never will.”

“What’s up with that, Stupidkawa?” he says, his words lacking their usual bite when he thumps you in the forehead with bruised knuckles. “You’ll find her.”

 _I already have,_ you think, hiding a knowing smile into the soft-knitted fabric of his sweatshirt as you press closer to him.

You just haven’t told him yet, and god only knew when you would admit to it.


End file.
